


Saying Goodbye

by Sossity



Category: due South
Genre: Canada, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sossity/pseuds/Sossity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing of his father's left at the cabin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying Goodbye

There was nothing of his father's left at the cabin. Victoria had seen to that. Nothing he remembered from his childhood, nothing from countless awkward Octobers and Decembers. Hell, there wasn't even a cabin any more; he and Ray had never quite gotten that far. The only indications that something once stood there were a few odd dips and hills in the blank, white snow.

It felt very odd to stand here, at the empty site; almost as though he had lost something tethering him to this place. There was nothing to stop him drifting uncontrollably God knows where. For now, he drifted east. He wouldn't go far on foot, not in the middle of winter, but there were many places nearby that held more memories than this barren place.

It wasn't a cave, exactly. More of a dent in the rock. Just enough to shelter an angry little boy, later an angry young man, from the wind while the snow or the water cooled the edge off his temper enough for him to head back home. Robert Fraser's cabin was to the west, of course, and the place his grandparents had settled for a little while was farther southwest. The small cemetery they'd visited earlier in the day was in between. Sometimes it felt like he knew the land here better than he knew the people who'd lived in it.

He sat. He didn't quite fit inside anymore, but he was used to that. He dug the spot he'd used for a campfire out of the snow with his hands. He hit dirt but kept digging (even though the ground was quite frozen) until he met something a little harder. He found the edges of the object and pulled it out. It was a small wooden box; it fit approximately the length of the inside of his wrist to the tip of his middle finger and had a tiny clasp that had broken at some point and had been replaced by a rubber band that was now also broken. Ben smiled and thought of Ian MacDonald sitting on the floor of an abandoned restaurant with a similar secret. He wondered briefly if all boys felt the need to bury their own treasure, then he opened it.

The box was filled, to his surprise, mostly with disintegrating leaves and pine needles. There were even a few nuts rattling around in the bottom. Was he part squirrel? He removed the detritus and looked through what was left. A ticket stub to a movie in Yellowknife dated May of 1970. He couldn't even remember _being_ in Yellowknife in 1970. A merit badge for astronomy. A jackknife, the one his father had given him for his 10th birthday. A crude drawing of his grandparents. Several coins, a brass button (identical to the ones on the RCMP dress uniform), two bottle caps, six (wooden) marbles, and an assortment of other items that would no doubt also bring back memories. As it was, time was growing short.

He placed everything (except for the knife, which went in his pocket) back in the box. He stood up, kicked snow and earth back into the hole, and tucked the box under his arm. _She may have destroyed everything else, but she missed this,_ he thought viciously as he walked back to the road. Strange. Was he blaming her for this? It wasn't her doing. He had another thought, remembered the last time he'd been back there to think things through. He stopped to fish something out of the box and look at it. It was a delicate necklace with a small diamond pendant, placed in his hands by someone who would give anything, anything at all for freedom. Ben turned it over a few times and studied it. Then he lifted it over his head, swung it by the chain, and let go.

When he got back to the road an hour or so later, Ray was leaning against the truck with his arms folded. "You done?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Good." Ray nodded to himself and they both climbed into the vehicle.

Ben tried to look at the scenery one last time, tried to burn it into his eyes, but the treacherous things kept sneaking back to Ray. His experimental hair had long since--and there was no other word for it--wilted, and he hadn't shaved for months. He wondered if Ray would keep the beard when he went back home. He felt a sharp twinge in his stomach and realized, surprised at himself, that he very much hoped Ray would.

Ray caught him watching him and started speaking again. "I, uh, I wouldn't usually drive this fast on these roads, but I wanna get back to Quinn's place as soon as possible." He shook his head. "Old coot waited way too long to start packing and it's gonna take us all weekend to get him ready to go. What was he thinking, that aliens were gonna come along and beam him and all of his stuff up to the mothership tomorrow night?"

"I think he was hoping for a last minute reprieve, Ray."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that." Ray smacked his hand on the steering wheel. "It's a damn shame, you know? Damn shame."

Ben forced his eyes back to the passenger window and watched the land rush by. _By the end of the week, this will all be underwater._ "I know."

He was drifting still. Flying weightlessly over rough dirt roads, past trees and rivers, over mountains, over cities, wondering only where he'd eventually touch down and if the man steering the truck would still be with him.

A hand hesitantly reached over and rested on the back of his. He turned his own hand over and held on for dear life.


End file.
